A Wedding Without Warmth

The wedding was magnificent.

Gold chandeliers. Imported flowers. Guests dressed in silk and power.

Yet the atmosphere was cold.

Noah stood at the altar, hands clasped tightly, jaw clenched so hard it ached. He could feel eyes on him—whispers, expectations, assumptions.

Beside him, Isa looked breathtaking.

Not fragile. Not shy.

Powerful.

As she walked down the aisle, her gaze never wavered. She didn’t look at Noah like a savior or a stranger. She looked at him like an equal stepping into a battle neither of them wanted.

When she reached him, her sleeve brushed his hand.

Just barely.

His body reacted instantly.

Muscles locked. Breath hitched. Heart slammed violently against his ribs.

Images flashed—too fast, too sharp.

Hands. Pain. Darkness.

He pulled back before anyone noticed.

Isa noticed.

Her eyes flicked to his hand, then to his face. Something passed through her expression—concern, confusion, restraint.

The priest’s voice blurred into background noise.

“Do you, Noah Accardi—”

“Yes,” Noah said too quickly.

Isa turned toward him as her turn came.

“Do you, Isadora Rodriguez—”

“I do,” she said clearly.

No hesitation. No tremor.

When the ring slid onto her finger, she didn’t smile.

When she placed the ring on his, she made sure not to touch his skin.

It was deliberate.

And kind.

The kiss never happened.

A polite excuse. A camera angle shift. Applause covered the absence.

That night, in the mansion that would now be their home, Noah locked himself inside the master bedroom.

Isa stood in the hallway for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

Then she turned, walked into the guest room, and shut the door quietly behind her.

This marriage had begun.

And already, it was full of distance.

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